Leaving Early
by Miss Chips
Summary: They always leave too early. Too early to realize. Too early to feel. But, once upon a surreal and terrible autumn, Lily and Travis finally recognize that the connection they share is beyond typical chemisty. TL
1. You

_Disclaimer: Runs away with rights to RFR MWHAHAHAHA. . . that's right. I have officially taken hold of Decode entertainment and the rights to every RFR episode. NANANA!!! Oh, just a bit of immaturity there. Nope, don't own crap, unforunately. Don't sue me, because it will be a waste of time, seeing as I have no money._   
**-----------**   
I stand with a blank expression now, and I can't believe myself. Would someone tell me, how did I get here? I am walking; changing slowly. I am chasing; climbing closer. I know that I'll never be alone. You will never let me go. You are my anchor. Hold my hand while I'm sinking in the sand. No one else could understand.   
You are my anchor.   
Wade/Brommel. 

**Prologue: You**

* * *

**Lily's POV:**

There is a knock on my door. 

"Lily. . . sweetheart? Dinner's ready." 

I groan before turning over in my bed. My bed sheets are wrinkled and I suddenly feel slightly disgusting. Cautiously opening one eye, I realize that I had fallen dead asleep on my English homework. 

"Damn," I mutter quietly before there is another knock at my door. 

"Lily, honey, is something wrong?" 

"No Mom! I'm fine," I yell before scrambling to push back bed sheets and stack my homework up in a semi-orderly pile. Running a hand through my hair I realize that my hair had come down from its pig-tail braids. 

My door opens and I sit up quickly. My mother stands in the doorway, her gaunt and tired figure eased against the door frame. Her eyes were glittering but I could tell that she was tired by the way her face was drawn in loose bitter wrinkles. She was a pretty woman for her age, but she did look her age-- no older and no younger. 

Smiling, I shake my head so that my hair falls out of what little of the braids that are left. My mother laughs before saying, "Your hair looks pretty like that-- all crinkled." 

"Thanks, Mom," I say before opening my dresser drawer and pulling on some drawstring pants. As I'm putting them on, I see my mother frown at me. 

"Honey. . . you might want to put something nicer on. Simone's fiancé is coming to dinner tonight," she says quietly, her obvious weariness straining her voice. Looking up, I feel a tug of hurt course through my veins at the expression on her face. 

Biting my lip, I push back my tears of disappointment. My mother's expression tears me to pieces inside, but I know that I can do nothing about it. Even after all these years, after three children, her regret is still fresh and obvious on her face. She never wanted to be married. She never wanted children. She didn't want this pre-packaged suburban life that is sometimes so brain-numbingly dull you don't realize that you're still alive. 

Nodding my head, I grab a sweater and a pair of jeans out of my chest drawers before quietly slipping them on. "I'll be down in a second, Mom," I say with a muffled voice through my sweater. 

I hear my mother leave while I put my shoes and socks on. I can hear my smaller brother running down the hallway, telling the world that he's Buzz Lightyear, superhero extroadinare. I hear the doorbell ring and my mother and father greet a laughing Simone. I can hear a young man introduce himself as Andrew DeMoore. I hear them go into the kitchen for a night of small talk. 

I am tying up my shoe when a dangerous thought crosses my mind. Sitting up straight, I stare at my reflection in the mirror as if I was checking to see if I was still there. Surely, the thoughts that were coursing through my head weren't mine. Surely. I look hesitantly at my window before frowning at my absurdity. The wind outside makes a tree knock it's branches against my windowpane. _Crack, Snap, Crack. . ._

The weather is uneasy, as it isn't quite sure if it is angry or simply melancholy. Yet, even with the ominous gray clouds hanging threateningly outside, I want nothing more to crawl outside and lay in the grass until I feel nothing. I want to run so hard I cannot tell if I have lost my breath or gained it. I want to lay on cool cement and cry and laugh. I want it to rain so hard I will grab the nearest stranger and press my lips so hard against them, you would think my life depended on it. 

But that was absurdity. 

Shaking my head, I gingerly open my door and walk slowly down the steps of my house. I can hear laughing people in the kitchen, and my mother talking quietly with Simone. As I walk into the family den, I see my father sitting in his easy chair, talking with a handsome man. 

My dad, seeing me, breaks into a large grin. "Here she is!" He exclaims before grabbing my shoulders and shaking me affectionately. The young man smiles at me, showcasing a row of dazzling white teeth. "This is my other little princess," my father leans in and then comments to the young man, "but don't think you can have both." With that, he laughs so hard, his face turns red. The young man, who I think is the famous Andrew DeMoore, simply chuckles, but I know he didn't think that the joke was funny at all. My brother finally runs through the room, jumping on the sofa and screaming that he will vaporize all of us. 

My dad picks him up and swings him around while my brother lets out screams of delight. I simply nod my head at Andrew DeMoore before creeping unnoticed into the kitchen. 

I can tell that there is tension in the room immediately. My mother is peeling potatoes while my pregnant sister sits angrily at the kitchen table. Her face is drawn in a tight line while she stares blankly ahead of her. 

"Hey Simone," I greet weakly before going to the cabinet, pulling out a glass for a drink. 

"Don't use the regular glasses, honey," my mother states in a gentle voice before dropping a potato-half into a boiling pot of water. "We're using the good crystal tonight." 

I open another drawer before pulling out a nice crystal glass. The glass catches the dull yellow kitchen light and reflects quiet rainbows on the wall. Filling it up with water from the facet, I watch as Simone opens her mouth as if to say something but then doesn't. 

Swallowing my water thickly, I look her over. "I heard that you went in for an ultra-sound this morning, Simone." 

My sister doesn't look at me. Instead, she simply nods her head bitterly. 

Biting my lip, I stare at the water in the glass. There are tiny rainbows in water, shimmering lightly; they make the room seem darker. "So, do you know if it's a boy or a girl yet?" 

Simone simply shifts in her chair before snapping, "Well, according to Mom it's nothing but a blob of tissue as of yet." 

I look up in surprise and glance at my mother, who is still cutting potatoes, but a look of horror has crossed her face. She is staring so hard into the pot of boiling water that Simone can't see her face. 

"Wha. . . ?" I asked before looking in confusion at my sister, who has a hand to her head now.   
  
"Why don't you tell her what's going on, Mom," Simone bites bitterly before standing up with a little bit of difficulty. Her stomach is getting larger by the days. 

My mother simply keeps peeling her potatoes while saying meekly, "I'm just saying Simone that you have no idea what you're getting into. . ." 

"You mean what_ you _got into, Mom!" Simone yells before throwing her hands in the air with frustration. "God, Mother, you'd think after twenty-five years of marriage and three good kids maybe something would change your goddamn mind!" 

My mother's eyes start to swell with tears. She turns to Simone before pointing a wavering finger, "You have no idea what you're talking about Simone. . ." 

"Well, goddammit Mom, neither do you. . .!" 

"Keep your voice down, young lady!" 

Simone grunts in frustration before snorting, "No, I don't think I will Mom. And here's another thing: Me and Andrew are having this baby whether it pleases you or not. Don't bring you're regret on my family. I am _not_ you, Mom!" Then, with squinted eyes, she shook her head, "And I will not have the abortion you always wish you had. Sorry I fuckin' ruined your life by being born." With that, she stormed out of the room. A few seconds later I heard her demanding frantically to Andrew DeMoore that they leave this house in a instant. Andrew DeMoore seemed confused and my father did too. But, after a few minutes, I heard the door slam and everything was quiet except for my father saying, "Well, what the hell just happened?" 

The door to the kitchen swings open and my father comes storming in. 

"Irene, what the hell did you say to her?" He demands before grabbing my brother from off the ground, making sure he was safe from the frustrated anger that seems to radiate from my father to my mother . 

My mother throws down her knife and the potatoes before storming upstairs, her sobs heard as she slams her bedroom door upstairs. 

My father stands stunned for a long time before he wonders out the kitchen door, a dazed look on his face, as if he wasn't aware of the world around him. 

I look into the good crystal glass and see the rainbows. Frowning and feeling tears smart my eyes, I throw my glass into the kitchen sink. I hear it shatter, but it doesn't matter. Running to the front door, I finally feel the first tear fall; I watch it shatter. As I open the door, I feel the cool burst of indecisive air hit my face. The dark ominous clouds rumble overhead. 

I ask myself where I am going. 

"Somewhere from here," I say to myself before walking into the wind.   


-------------------- 

**Travis' POV:**

Truism. I've heard the expression often times when people are so flustered with another person for not regarding a common known fact. They've become blue in the face, eyes blood-shot and mouths tight. 

"How can you not think that same as me?" They declare indignant before throwing up their wronged hands, "This isn't a matter of opinion; this is simple truism." 

Or, in other words: what is, _is_. There is no going around some things. The earth is round. One plus one is two. If you drop a plate of spaghetti off the Empire State's Building, it will fall, taking it's droopy, stainable palate along with it. 

But, sometimes I wonder how much truism holds water with the issues of gray matter. I mean, how does one scientifically examine things like love? And what about hope? And what happens when someone becomes so enwrapped with their religion they do things beyond rational thought, like devote their lives to lepers in India? Or lead a nation to freedom through peaceful protest? Or blow up innocent people in a subway? Or lead an Empire on a crusade against thousands of woman and children just because they pray to the east rather than heavenward? 

How does one go about explaining how one person can push love away and yet be so helplessly in love that sometimes they worry about their next breath? How does one go about explaining falling in love? Obviously Hollywood thinks they've got it down pat, especially since I've seen the newest installment of "A Relationship That Would Never Work In Real Life --(coming to a theater near you!)" on a billboard this morning. Is there a formula for it? Or is there simply something that is unexplainable, something that crouches in the deep corners of the gray area of truism that explains all of this messy and sordid thing called love? Does love have a few different meanings that sometimes we accidentally blur into one thing to fit our terrible excuse of consciousness? 

I blink and suddenly all of my thoughts are gone. I am now staring at the dill pickle section of Ingles' Grocery. 

Looking over my shoulder, I see my mother staring at me as if she is once again sizing me up. Her unimaginative eyes roam over me before sliding over to my sister, who is sitting on the cold tile floor next to the pickles. I can see the obvious inquiry in her eyes, and I frown as I realize that she wondering how these things-- the things that are staring at her with such strange expressions-- are actually her children. Her distaste twitches at the side of her mouth as she says, "Come on, Travis, Rachel; we've got to get home in time for the party. We've got to let Maria have time to make the hors d'oeuvre." 

I keep my mouth glued together to keep myself from frowning. I try not to let my obvious distaste show through. However, my sister Rachel, does not mind a display of her annoyance. 

Letting loose a sigh, Rachel stands up before walking away from the pickles. Her gray mohair purse flops on her side before she finally finds a suitable place to sit: on top of the milk jugs and next to the cream cheese. She pulls out a large book from her purse and starts to write in it, all the while sitting on top of the milk jugs, her long skirt folded among her legs as she sits indian style. 

My mother, obviously perturbed and shocked at her daughter's abnormal behavior, looks at me wide-eyed. "What is wrong with her?" She whispers harshly to me before grabbing inside her Louis Vuitton purse, pulling out her keys to the BMW-- her one pride and joy. 

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" I offer acidly, not bothering to keep my voice down. 

The expression that crosses her face resembles somebody who has just been asked to do the impossible. But it is so easily squashed, most people would not have even recognized it. An indignant look comes across her face, as if she has just been offended, and she bristles immediately. "Well, I just don't think it's appropriate. No, not at all." She calls for my sister, but Rachel simply lets her lofty eyes glide over to my mother before she again ignores her. Huffing, my mother turns to me, demanding childishly, "Tell your sister to get over here this instant." 

I feel my blood start to boil as I glare at my mother. "Or you'll do what?" I ask, and I can tell it's not the sort of tone you should use with your mother; I feel as if I am talking to a two-year old throwing a temper tantrum.   
  
Opening her mouth, my mother is about to expel some kind of threat but then she hesitates. 

Shaking my head, I turn on my heel and walk away from my mother, who is standing with a confused expression on her face, her car keys jangling loosely in her hands. 

"Travis. . . Darling! Where are you going?" 

"Somewhere away from you," I mutter quietly before pounding my way outside the grocery store. 

---------------- 

_A/N: Ah, here I am, the annoying author. Anywho, this story sort of wrote itself for the past few weeks, and I just realized how terribly angsty it is. Shrugs Oh well. Oh, and I made up the whole Simone and Lily's brother bit, along with Travis and his sister, Rachel. I like Rachel, though, even though the way I dipict her is not what the writers of RFR had in mind (yes, Travis really does have an older sis named Rachel, but supposedly we're never going to see here, or so says Brent Piaskoski (uh, I think I spelled his name wrong. Sorry Brent!)). But did you likey? Should I continue? Tell me what you think, and I'll love you forever. Really. Flames and praise will be glomped, although I prefer constuctive criticism. Thanks a ton, guys!_


	2. Inspire

_"If I place love above everything, it is because for me it is the most desperate, the most despairing state of affairs imaginable."   
--André Breton   
_**---------------------**   


**Chapter One: Inspire**

* * *

  
The world was a sepia landscape that afternoon. The winter had turned everything brown and gray, and the wind seemed to color the rumbling sky a deep amber. 

Lily Randall plodded through the mushy ground with a deep reluctance. Her eyes kept darting through her surroundings as if some demon might pop from behind a bush. Her wool sweater was starting to become itchy and irritating, however, and she became less paranoid of her surroundings and more discouraged for her comfort. 

If there was one fascinating thing about Roscoe, it's that it seemed to have been designed by some sort of strangely fascinating genius. There were small footpaths cutting through the surrounding forest, which most of the children from Roscoe had explored when they were younger. It seemed as if people traveled them all the time, because there were always well worn and free of forest debris. Occasionally, you would see sign of travelers: a beer bottle, a discarded joint, sometimes an action figure. But, for the most part, you had the distinct impression that you were one of the first people to travel down a road in years. A road that intention's are so unclear, you make up reasons why they were made in the first place: an illegal whiskey run, a lover's meeting place, a secret society. 

The wind was howling angrily through the trees when Lily saw him. He was leaning against the gray stony wall of the town cemetery. He held something odd in his hands, which he was watching with strange disinterest. His eyebrows were knitted together in concentration and occasionally he would survey the sky as if he were waiting for the heavens to finally issue forth the thunderstorm it had been threatening all day. 

Lily stood there for a long time, staring at him, wondering what exactly she should do. Her foot was sinking further and further into the soft ground, the muddy soil enveloping her shoe. However, she paid no mind to it. Instead, she stood extremely quiet, like a deer glancing at a fellow forest creature, deciding whether they were dangerous or perfectly safe. 

Then, as if she had issued forth a cry, his eyes instantly snapped towards her. They shone in some kind of gray and ethereal light. The gaze hurt her, pierced her. But Lily simply ground her teeth and bore it all-- it was like self-destruction; opening old wounds and letting the blood pour out, adrenaline pounding fresh and painful through her veins. 

There was a registry of surprise on his face when he first saw her, but it quickly wore off. Soon, his face softened and hardened at the same time-- a look of approachability was painted across his features, but there was no invitation to read his feelings.   
  
However, even though it was very clear that she might approach him, Lily didn't. A shiver blew it's way through her body; she drew her sweater tighter, ignoring the wool scratching against her bare flesh. 

Through her squinted eyelids, she surveyed him with suspicion. He never failed to intrigue her. And yet, there was something so spookily familiar about him, she couldn't help but not be surprised by his presence. Sometimes it was as if she expected him to show up at the most uncanny places and the oddest sort of hours. Although she had no intention of him being here, it shocked her very little. 

Travis Strong was an endless tapestry of nature which she had tried to unravel. But then she had realized that she had gone about it all wrong; she wasn't supposed to figure out how he was woven. It was the fact that she could identify that he was a complex pattern of paradoxes; that was what was important. 

Of course, no one understood this. Ray had told her that she was creepy when she finished his sentences or excused his frequent and moody absences. 

"It's not normal, Lily," Ray had commented one day while scarfing down a krueller at the local bakery. "I mean the only people who understand him are people like," an indefinite pause, "well, no one really. Even Audrey says that he's a freak." 

And then Ray received a swift punch that rendered him hardly injured, if not a bit encouraged. Shaking her head mournfully, Lily said that it wasn't that hard to understand people as long as you aren't a close-minded baffoon.   
  
Ray had raised an eyebrow before glancing at her through mischievous eyebrows. "So. . . are you saying that Audrey is a close-minded baffoon?" 

Another punch. 

But, staring at Travis now, Lily realized that he wasn't a freak. Yes, he was unique and bit quirky, but the fact that he was different didn't make him weird. It made him Travis-- and people who were void of their own idiosyncrasies were the people who had lost something. 

The sky rumbled with some kind of impatient frustration, tearing Lily from her brooding. Blinking, Lily double-took the spot that Travis had been standing. Her thoughts must have swept her away so far that she hadn't realized that he had taken leave of her gaze. Swallowing down a bit of bitter disappointment, Lily uncurled her arms from around her frame before jogging quietly down the muddy hill. Looking around her surroundings, she hoped to catch a glance of Travis. Unfortunately, she caught none and she slowed at the bottom of the hill, near the entrance of the cemetery. 

Shoulders sagging dejectedly, Lily sighed. Travis had taken more and more leave of Ray, Robbie, and herself lately. She didn't know what he did by himself or even if he was by himself. However, he would always appear for RFR in the afternoons, albeit distant and angsty. His stolen glances at her had never fallen short of Lily, making something flutter in the pit of her chest. Sometimes, when he was in a good mood, he would take her out to eat at Mickey's, but most of the time they were accompanied by Robbie, who always seemed to be disapproving of the situation on the whole, a visible scowl painted across his dark features. Ray would never go just with Lily and Travis, always coming up with some half-grounded excuse to dismiss himself. Robbie would always be present for the occasions were Ray and Travis hung out together, and even though Lily nearly died of the grimacing tensions that hung in the air, she would writhe her way through these excursions and the awkwardness that accompanied them. 

And despite of the way she felt-- no, she would not feel. That was the problem. As hard as she was aching inside, she would bravely swallow down any passions or feelings for the noble cause of normalcy and civility. And because, officially, things had been set to neutrality between Ray and Travis, Lily wouldn't dare selfishness and tip that scale. 

Suddenly, she heard someone light a match. The smell of sulfur hit her nostrils before the heavy scent of sweet tobacco burned in her senses. Eyes drifting slowly, Lily caught glimpse of someone sitting in front of a tombstone inside the cemetery walls, a cigarette in their hands. The side of their face was visible to her, and she found that she could recognize it instantaneously. 

She opened her mouth to sound a greeting, but instead, she shut it and tried to harden herself. Then, trying again, she remarked stonily, "I didn't know you smoked, Travis." 

He looked up before offering her a thin smile. "I don't." 

Lily, who wasn't expected to hear that reply, clamped her mouth shut of a retort that was about to come out of it. Eyebrows furrowed, she watched as Travis held (only holding, never releasing a bit of it's pleasurable poison into his system) his cigarette for a few gray minutes, his stormy eyes glued on it. The paper strip of nicotine would flare every once in awhile, burning in a flame of glory before it would singe back into his normal gold and black kindle. Ashes would fall occasionally, some scattering on the ground, many collecting on his rough fingers. 

In a final burst of glory, the cigarette would burn itself out, smoldering waves of smoke emitting out of it, showcasing the death of something that had once seemed to live. As this happened, Travis dropped it, grinding it into the ground with a defiant push of his toe. 

He stared blankly ahead for a few seconds before he turned to her, his face full of some kind of uncharted emotion, sparking something odd and unexpected in Lily's throat. He surveyed her face before saying, gently, "So, is the world crashing down on you today also?" 

Lily suddenly realized that she had been crying. Bristling at her own tears, she wiped them away defiantly before wrapping her arms around her stomach. She looked at Travis in desperation before making some sort of coherent response, "I'm unwanted, Travis. I'm rejected. No-- don't open your mouth," Lily raised a shaky but strong hand to an interjection that was forming on Travis' tongue, "it is nothing to be pitied about. I have brought my own fate on me. I have rejected some part of me that I don't think I can ever find again, and it leaves me feeling like some sort of broken spirit, wondering these desolate moors of Roscoe with a empty and sickening feeling." Closing her eyes, she felt another tear leak through her eyelid dam. 

When she opened her eyes, Travis was staring at her with a cryptic expression. There was no pity on his face; instead there was something strong and beautiful. Understanding, perhaps? Lily didn't know. She swallowed her thick tears along with another sob that was arising like a hiccup in her throat. 

He dropped her gaze before saying, "If it makes you feel any better, I don't believe in fate, Lily. Or at least not the silly sentimental nonsense definition that they've placed on it today. There is too much to it, to fate, Lily," he looked up at her, a quizzical expression on his face, "and further more, you know that too. And that frightens me, because. . ." he trailed off before shaking his head, a ironical and dark chuckle arising from his throat. Then, with a quick look that Lily failed to decode, he growled, "Me and you, Lily, we're enemies unto the world. And it knows it. It is compelled by it." 

Lily knew there was no real rationality to his words. But they spoke some kind of truth that shook her so hard to the core that a dark chill shivered up the back of her neck. The world suddenly turned inside out of her. The trees seemed to groan and shriek at her. Looking around, as if she had displaced some of her common sense on a hanger to dry, Lily looked at Travis in horror. There was a slight knowing smile gathering at the corner of his mouth. 

"Have a cigarette," he said, pulling a pack out of his jacket pocket. 

Lily did have a cigarette. But she never pressed it to her mouth. Instead, both of them simply watched as the life and death of something beyond this world transpired right before their eyes. 

------------------------------------ 

_A/N: Hey ya'all! How did I get this done so fast, you ask? Just call me genius. Or, er. . . also call me a cheater because this story is actually pretty much finished already. Heh. . ._

_Anywho, leave me a message after the tone. . . or you know, just press the pretty 'ickle review button, take a minute out of your life and write a review. Tell what I need to improve, what you like, if your Aunt Sally went sky-diving, whatever. Yeah, that'd be beautiful. Oh, and thank you guys who did review; I appreciate it muchly!_


	3. And Fulfill

_To love very much is to love inadequately; we love-- that is all. Love cannot be modified without being nullified. Love is a short word but it contains everything. Love means the body, the soul, the life, the entire being. We feel love as we feel the warmth of our blood, we breathe love as we breathe the air, we hold it in ourselves as we hold our thoughts. Nothing more exists for us. Love is not a word; it is a wordless state indicated by four letters. . ._   
_ Guy De Maupassant_   
------------------------------------ 

**Chapter Two: And Fulfill**

* * *

The wind howled when the last of her cigarette went out. Lily silently stared at the streaming cigarette smoke as it flew against her eyelashes. Then, swallowing thickly, she risked a glance at Travis. 

He was staring off into space, his gray eyes roaming the landscape with an odd sense of wariness. He cocked his head to the side for a second before a short huff of a chuckle escaped his lips. 

Eyebrows raised, Lily watched Travis' thoughts flicker over her face, and a flutter of happiness rose in the pit of her stomach as she surveyed his mood. Throwing her cigarette to the ground, she smiled inquiringly at him. "What's so funny?" 

Travis turned to look at her, his eyes glittering in amused intelligence. Nodding to his surroundings, he said quietly, "_Do you not know? Have you not heard? Has it not been declared to you from the beginning? Have you not understood from the foundations of the earth?_" With that, he fell silent, the quirky smile quickly disappearing while a solemn frown took its place. 

Blinking in bemusement, Lily looked around before pursing her lips. Coughing awkwardly, she cocked her head at him. "Were those questions directed at me, Travis?" 

Hearing this, Travis laughed outright, looking at her with the purest amount of affection she had even seen on his face. Shaking his head, his chuckles interjected him occasionally while he stuttered, "No, no. . ." his laughter increased a bit; Lily scowled before crossing her legs Indian-style. Seeing her expression, Travis tried to control his laughter, but it looked more like a grimace than a serious expression. 

Lily gave him a playful slap across the arm and tried to look like she was upset. But she wasn't. She couldn't help but grin despite herself; Travis' joy never failed to send thrills of excitement through her body. 

Finally settling down, Travis shook his head again before stating patiently, as if he were teaching a small toddlerl, "It's a passage from The Book of Isaiah. . ." 

"As in, from the Bible?" Lily asked, turning to him with a confused expression. 

"As in from the Bible," Travis restated before snapping a piece of grass from the ground. Then, cupping it in his hand, he blew between his thumbs, sending an odd reverberating sound echoing through the air. 

As she heard this eerie sound resound with the thunder, Lily shivered. However, she quickly squashed the bubbling foreboding in her stomach before pursuing the subject that was present beforehand. "But, Travis, I thought you were a Buddhist. . . ?" She stopped while raising an inquiring eyebrow. 

He looked at her from the corner of his eye before a smirk formed on his face. Leaning back, he surveyed the sky, stating nonchalantly, "Nah. . . Buddha's full of shit." 

Starting at his harsh words, Lily gave off a shocked face. Travis merely laughed at her again. Then, turning so that his body was laying on the ground but his head was propped up by his hand, he spoke slowly, "I'm not a Buddhist, Lily. I agree with many of his teachings; some I don't. There are some Judaistic teachings I agree with; many I don't. I study both, holding out for something that holds all truth." 

His words were haunting, as if he had sung them. A chill in the air surrounded her; Lily wrapped her sweater closer to her body, eyeing Travis with suspicion, as if she wasn't quite sure he was there. He always did manage to disappear at the oddest times, just when she needed him the most. It would come when she felt the air becoming heavy, when the world was caving in and suffocating her with it's choking sulfuric fumes. It was at those times she realized that it wasn't a matter of how much she wanted him, of how much she desired to wrap herself in his toxic warmth and melt into his earthy and habitual body; it was a matter of need. It was at these moments that Lily truly understood her utter dependence on this other person. It was as if someone had ripped out her soul and told her to walk around without it, pretending that it wasn't running away from her. 

It was also at those moments that Lily realized that Travis was incriminating her too, because she had run away with his soul. He was running away from the inevitable, trying to see how long he could last without that critical part of himself. 

However, Lily felt no pity for herself and no compassion for Travis. She felt like one of those insane mass murderers who went madly chuckling all the way to their execution. 

"Lily. . .?" A voice interjected her thoughts finally. "I'm sorry; please don't cry." 

Lily suddenly realized that she had been crying again. She opened her mouth to say something, but she could instantly taste the bitter flavor of her tears sting her tongue. Thunder was creaking in the background and lightening sizzled in humidity as Lily boarded her eyes tightly together. Eyes closed, she felt shame course through her body like a wave of nausea. She hated to feel sorry for herself. 

Lily felt herself falling, drifting off somewhere, but two strong hands gripped her wrists, anchoring her to the soft cemetery soil. She realized then that she really wanted to leave, to run away from this situation. Stretching out her arms, she tried to free her herself from the zealous grip, but she instantly found any attempt would be in vain. 

And it wasn't that she_ wanted_ to leave, persay. It just felt as if now was the time to make her exit, as if it was ordained. It was as if going against it was like going against a bad habit. 

"_I won't let you leave now_." Travis' voice was heavy and strange. His breath stung her cool and damp cheeks, making Lily shiver instantly. Another tear escaped her lids while she ground her teeth in agony. 

"Let me go," she said to him, her teeth chattering and her voice sounding like a creaky stair. Lily suddenly felt very old, ancient almost. The blood was slowly draining from her face, and she could feel her face grown paler by the instant. 

"No," came the forceful yet gentle reply. "No, Lily, I'm not going to let you go. . . where would you go anyways?" 

"Home. I want to go home." Lily choked down a sob that scratched her throat. 

Travis sighed. There was a brief silence while Lily managed to gain control of herself, swallowing her overwhelming emotions. Slowly, as the sobs ceased to silently rack her body, she opened her eyes. Looking through a blurred vision, Lily surveyed Travis' face, which was now alarmingly close to her own. 

He looked old, but not in the sense that he had aged. Instead, he looked old like the earth looks old-- there was something ancient and mystic in the furrowed lines of his brow that spoke volumes of the thoughts churning underneath his stony facade. 

Travis was biting his lip during the eternal and gray seconds they stared at each other. Then, after a time, he looked away before whispering, as if he didn't want any possible eavesdroppers to hear, "But nobody's at home, Lily." 

"What?" Lily quickly demanded with shocked curiosity. Blinking rapidly, she gulped loudly before asking, horror edged on her voice, "What did you say?" 

His eyes roamed back to her face as he said gently, "Nobody's home. . . not even when you pick up the telephone to talk to Ray or Robbie. Not even when you meet Audrey at Mickey's. Not even when you sleep with that boy up the street from you. . . yes-- don't look at me like that-- I know about him." 

His words hit her like a ton of bricks. Staggering back, Lily crawled away from him with her hands and heels, wide-eyed and frightened of the thoughts filtering through his brain. He was talking strange again, of course. No one should understand what he was saying. But Lily knew. 

Looking at him in horror, Lily didn't know what to think of his expression. His face seemed to register frustrated patience, as if he was waiting for her to admit that he was right. However, Lily would not concede that easily. Bristling, she pursed her lips together before huffing stiffly, "That's not true. Ray and Robbie are my home. Audrey makes me feel more happy than I could ever imagine. And Neal, well. . . he's a nice guy!" 

At this, Travis laughed loudly, mocking undertones hidden in his chuckles. Leaning back on his hunches, he raised an eyebrow at her before saying, "No, Lily, you've got it all wrong. . ." 

"Do I?" She interjected, feeling the color rise to her cheeks in indignation. "Because right now I'm wondering how someone who never seems to be home would know so much about what it feels like to truly be home." 

A frown creased his face immediately. "Now. . ." he started, his voice suddenly sounding a bit resentful. 

"Oh, don't patronize me, Travis!" Lily shouted before standing up, not bothering to brush off the dirt from her clothes. Her eyes flashed menacingly as she glowered at him. Shaking her head, she felt her neck hair stand up from the stormy electricity in the air. "I know what's good for me," She spat at him, as if to finalize the situation. 

"Oh really? You do?" Travis barked at her, a fire in his stormy eyes. He stood up and faced her, his lips trembling in fever. 

"Yes, really!" 

A dark chuckle emitted from his lips, as if a part of his zen-calm was turning insane. His face calmed for second while he stared at Lily, her hands clenched tightly at her side. Then, with the brevity of second, he went onward, "You know, I thought for second about apologizing, but then I realized that I owe no apology. Because, Lily, you know that we don't belong here, not in this world. Or at least not in _their _world-- not in Ray's. Not in Robbie's. Not in Audrey's. _ Especially_ not in Neal's." He shook his head while running a shaky hand through his hair. "That's the problem, Lily. We all pretend that there is some sort of cosmic fate that everyone adheres too. But that's excrement, all of it. The problem with fate is that we-- humanity-- do not belong in the same worlds, the same spheres. That's the reason your mother isn't happy with her safe, surbaban lifestyle. That's the reason why my father drags our family across this cursed world for fulfillment while allowing his good-for-nothing wife to ruin the lives of the ones he loves most, but he doesn't have the intuition or imagination to interfere. That's the reason why Robbie will never understand or condone our relationship. That's the reason why Ray can never admit that he's in love with you; because he's not, or not really. We do not all fit into a neat little human mold in which everyone is just like everyone. We are equal, yes. But separate. When we try to infiltrate each other's worlds, that's where we run into humanity's problems. We cannot understand why someone will not and can not understand the same desires of our hearts, the lusts of our bodies, the wounds of our souls." He paused here, his lips suddenly pursed together in grim realization. 

Lily felt a paralyzation take hold of her entire body as his words rung true to every part of her being. She looked at him, her eyes dry, her former anger vanished without a whisper of a trace. She suddenly realized that she hadn't been breathing the entire time he was talking, but she felt as if now wouldn't be an appropriate time to start. 

Thunder growled overhead. A drop of water splashed Lily square on the nose. She ignored it 

Travis groaned before glancing at the sky. Then, with a gray and heavy voice, he finished his speech, "Me and you, Lily, are not a perfect match in the flesh. You're happy-go-lucky, sweet, and kind, albeit slightly juvenile, even if you have grown up lately. I'm a boring, haiku, transcendental weirdo. However," he looked at her, his eyes grave, "when we connect like this, you know what I know. We belong in the same world, Lily. We understand the realm in which we grope the strangling darkness with a defiance that I cannot describe. You-- and I'll say this with the risk of sounding fake and corny-- you, Lily Randall inspire and fulfill me. Without you, without me, without _us_, there is no point, really." 

It had started raining, fat drops soaking the poached ground. Lily could feel it seeping through her wool sweater so that it clung to her body. However, her immediate discomfort was immaterial as she stared at Travis with an unnerved expression. 

Travis was right. She knew it in her soul, could feel his dull gray light shining out from it like a beacon of misty truth. Lily entertained the thought that maybe she should cry, but then decided against it. Swallowing thickly, she realized how much she wanted nothing more to fall into his embrace now, to let herself go. To enter the world in which they lived in. 

However, what he had said tortured her. It tortured her because she knew there was a certain sense of finality about it. It was an irreversible path in which the only way to go was forward. There was no turning back once she had taken his hand and agreed to follow him into this strange and terrific sphere where she was home. Finally and truly home. 

There was no Ray in this place. No Robbie. No Audrey. No Simone and her new baby. And although it didn't mean total exclusion from these people, it meant that she had to realize that she would never connect with them in the truest and purest sense. It was as if viewing the world from an aquarium, in which you were technically in the same room but not within the same world. 

And, because of her thoughts, Lily suddenly felt trepid bile rise to her throat. She swallowed it before shivering, her eyes clamped tight against grim certainty. Lily reasoned that Travis had probably left, gone to a place where the horrors of this reality were now intangible. However, as she opened her eyes, she was staring into the face of a confused and indecisive young man. 

A million things came to her tongue to say at that second, a million perfect phrases were in her brain to use for a time such as this. However, the thing she said then was neither perfect nor tactful. 

Looking deeply into Travis' eyes, Lily blinked away a raindrop that was hanging on her eyelash. Then, her words thick and measured, Lily stated, "Give me one good reason not to leave right now, Travis." 

This phrase seemed to hit him as if it was a slap in the face. He stared at her like a deer caught in the headlights. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. Hesitation creased his forehead, and he blinked in bemusement. 

At his silence, Lily felt regret sting her throat. Shaking involuntarily, Lily shook her head mournfully. Licking her lips, she turned on her heel to go, her shoes soaked in rain and mud. 

And, as her foot was about to take the first step away, something caught her by the wrist and turned her fully around. Lily let out a small shriek of surprise as she was pulled against his broad chest. Looking up gingerly, she saw Travis' tempestuous eyes, observing her with brash direction. 

Lily's heart caught in her throat when she opened her mouth to stutter. However, nothing came out. As she was about to pull away and ask Travis to explain himself, something tremendous happened. 

As the rain poured on them, he pulled her closer before covering his lips with hers in a fevered sense of desperation, as if their lives depended on it. His warmth enveloped her in that chilly and rainy autumn day, overflowing her with inner static electricity. 

Lily could feel Travis pressing his lips further onto hers, and she wondered how much closer they could get before their lips became bruised. Her hands were clutched and pressed hopelessly at his chest; one of his were wrapped tightly around her waist while the other pushed back the wet and stringy hair that had been plastered to her cheek. 

He tasted a bit like ginger, but there was an odd sense of peaceful yet gritty earthiness about him. His lips were a testament of what Travis was; firm and hard, yet at the same time, delicate at the slightest touch. 

After what seemed like forever, Travis pulled back, loosening his bonds on her. Lily didn't move at first, but instead stood stiffly, her eyes shut tightly. She could feel herself shivering from the cold and the exhausting emotions coursing through her body. Then, after a few seconds, she opened her eyes to look at Travis. 

He was staring at her as if he didn't know what to think of her. His mouth was drawn in a tight line while his forehead was crinkled in concentration. He took a step back before surveying her, his eyes grazing over her features with apt curiosity. 

Lips pursed, he stared at her, his eyes glittering with some inward fire. "That's the reason why you shouldn't go," he finally remarked, glancing at Lily through the rim of his eyelashes. 

Lily suddenly realized that her mouth was open like a earthed fish. Gulping in some air, she shook her head and ran her hand through her tangled mess of wet hair. Her gray wool sweater clung to her, and she had the instinct to take it off, which she did. Throwing it away, she glared at it when it landed in a sordid pile of mud and earth. Lily (who was now wearing nothing but her jeans and black bra) glanced back up at Travis, but he had not even slightly reacted to her undressing. He simply blinked at her solemnly before sighing, weariness edging on his tone. 

Swallowing thickly, Lily bit her lip. She was starting to shiver all over again, and she clutched her arms around her chest, hoping for some warmth. When she received none, she managed to stutter through her chattering teeth, "Are you in love with me, Travis?" 

Travis was trying to light another cigarette, but was facing the inevitable failure of that endeavor. At her question, however, he raised an inquiring eyebrow. Then, craning back his head, he looked at her with an intense gaze. He sighed before taking off his jacket, and, walking towards Lily, put it over her shaking body. 

His jacket was soaking wet, just like everything else, but it provided the insulation that Lily was yearning for. And when he draped it over her shoulders, she could feel his lips graze the tips of her ear as he said, "Of course I love you, Lily." But his tone was so dry, it might have been him stating the weather conditions. 

Lily turned on him, looking him square him in the eye. He did seem to be caught off guard by this, because he blinked at her, bemused. Then, gripping tightly to his shoulders, she ordered him to stare, bewildered, at her while she commanded, "I didn't ask whether you love me or not. I asked whether you were in love with me. Now answer me!" 

Travis bit his lip before scrunching his eyebrows together. "I. . . I don't think I can, Lily." 

"Shut-up, Travis," she snapped before she felt tears smart in her eyes. "Tell me how you feel. . . you never tell me. You. . ." she paused before she sniffled quietly, "you always leave too early to tell me what you feel. Now, Travis Strong, do you love me?" 

His eyes started to sway to the side, but Lily shook him before demanding that he look at her. His gaze snapped on her, and although Lily flinched at the fire burning in them, her grip didn't weaken. Instead, she pursed her lips together, her face willing him to respond. 

And he finally did. Slowly and deliberately, Travis stated calmly, "People like us don't fall in love, Lily." 

Bristling, Lily digested his words, blinking slowly. Then, her eyes narrowing, she swallowed before asking, "Yes; yes, of course. But, nevertheless, Travis are you in love with me?" 

"Maybe," was the quick reply. And then: "I mean, yes. Well, I don't know. Lily, you ask too much. You always ask too much." 

"Nonsense," she snapped before letting go of him, her eyes grazing over Travis' confused countenance. Folding her arms across her chest, Lily said, "You know I never ask too much; everyone else just asks too little." 

Travis simply nodded. The rain was letting up a little bit, but the sopping ground was engulfing both of them. Frowning, he looked at her, and Lily instantly knew that he was going to leave. 

But she needed to leave too. 

And, so with a bit of awkwardness as the conversation immediately shifted, she said, "Uh, I probably should get back. My dad will be worried. Or something." She averted her eyes away from Travis, suddenly finding the muddy landscape fascinating. Sensing that something was missing, she realized that she still had his jacket on. "Er. . . you probably want your jacket back," Lily mumbled as she slowly unzipped it. 

Shaking his head, Travis wrapped his fingers over her hand, stopping her from furthering the unzipping. "No," he said gently, "you can keep it. My mother has probably already bought me another one of the umpteenth jackets that I don't really like." 

Lily gave him a little smile. Travis, catching her eye, smiled crookedly back at her. Something caught in her throat when he did, and Lily took a mental picture of that moment. In that second, she could swear that was what it would be like if she could fall in love. But that world didn't belong to her. No, the world she belonged to ached in her body. It was a yearning that pained her; it ate at her like a sickness. She couldn't turn from it or try to ignore it. If she did, she would end up like her mother, her soul eating away at her, alienating her from her comfortable yet maddening life. 

"Come on," Travis said before grabbing her hand and holding it affectionately. "I'll walk you to the road." 

His loose grip was warm and comforting, but at the same time Lily could feel shivers of danger coursing through her veins. Her breathing became shallow as they plodded through the wet cemetery grounds, past the iron-rod fence, towards the gravel road that curved up the knoll, leading to a path that cut through the twisting forests of Roscoe. 

When they reached the gravel road, Travis still held her hand, albeit so loosely he might as well have not been holding it. Lily chanced a look in his direction and watched as he shook his head like a wet dog. Water went spraying everywhere, but she couldn't really tell if it was the still-pouring rain or the droplets in his hair. 

They didn't say anything for a long time. Then, finally, Lily bit her lip and cleared her throat. "I'm kinda hungry; I might head to Mickey's." That was lie. She wouldn't have gone to Mickey's if someone had grabbed her by the hair and dragged her there. The fact was that she was mentally exhausted, and felt as if she might collapse right on the gravel pavement. 

Travis raised a calculating eyebrow, showing that he clearly knew she was lying. But, after a few seconds of silence, he said, "Yeah, okay." A pause. "Call me when you get home, alright?" Another lie. He didn't want her to call him. And he knew she wouldn't. 

However: "Sure," Lily answered before shrugging. She made a move as if to leave, but then she caught herself, spinning tightly on her heel. Staring back at Travis, she opened her mouth to say something-- anything. But, when her gaze met his, her mouth shut tight, as if closed together by some invisible clamp. 

There was now no need for verbal conversation. It was there in Travis' eyes, swimming there, engrossing Lily to her very core. Understanding. Trust. If they could be material things, they were there swimming and exchanged in their gaze. 

"Go," whispered Travis before offering her a thin grin. 

Lily, managing her own wobbly smile, finally let go of his wrinkly hand. She started to walk up the knoll, her shoes soaked with soil and stained with wet grass. Entertaining the thought of taking off her shoes, Lily looked behind her. 

Travis was still standing there, his hair standing on ends. He looked like a marble statue, his face hard and sharp, his eyes piercing and stormy. His clothes were soaked thoroughly while raindrops clung to the tip of his nose, his eyebrows, his eyelashes. Lily sighed; she wanted to imagine him like that always. 

_No_, she said to herself. No. She didn't want to remember him like that. She wanted to remember what it felt like to look into his eyes, what it felt like to drink him in. She wanted to remember the way he kissed her, like his life depended on it. 

Lily smiled bitter-sweetly to herself. She remembered one day on RFR when Travis had said, in response to one of Ray's immature remarks, "Love isn't about what you need or want, Pronto. Erich Fromm once said, 'Immature love says "I love you because I need you." Mature love says, "I need you because I love you".'". 

Ray had then retorted with his redundant, "Everyone, quiet: If you listen hard enough, you can hear the wheels of nonsense turning in that head of Swami's." 

Sighing, Lily bit her lip, glanced one more time at Travis before deciding not to take off her shoes. Clenching her jaw, she began to climb the saturated knoll before disappearing into the winding forest path to her house. 

------------------------------------------------------------ 

_A/N: WAIT!! This story isn't quite finished. Actually, this is quite a short fanfic now that I think about it. Oh well. But, anywho, there's one more chappie after this, so hold on tight (or,whatever).___

_Anyways, leave a review if you care. PWEASE? And thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has reviewed. You all are glorious people._


	4. Me

_Cast me gently into morning_   
_For the night has been unkind._   
_Take me to a place so holy_   
_That I can wash this from my mind:_   
_The memory of choosing not to fight._   
_ -- Sarah McLachlan, Answer_   
_---------------------------------------_   


**Epilogue: Me**

* * *

**Lily's POV:**   


I stumbled into my house, taking care not to slam the door. Glancing up at the wall clock, I winced. It was nearly one in the morning; my parents would surely be after me in no time. However, as I wandered into my living room, everything remained quiet and dark. There was the typical misty smell permeating everything, which only made me sleepier by the second. 

Dragging my feet, I plopped myself unceremoniously onto the living room couch, nuzzling my face against the sofa's dingy and worn pillows. Looking at the dark air around me, I felt my eyelids start to get heavy. I entertained the thought of dragging myself up to my bathroom for a long hot shower, but the thought was suddenly dashed when I heard the sound of my father's voice shouting. My mother's sobs could still be heard, loud and clear throughout the house. 

And then: "Oh, Irene! I'm sorry; don't start crying again. It's just that-- it's just that sometimes I just_ can't _understand why you are the way you are." There was a pause, the sobs just getting worse. Then I could hear my father purr, "Irene, baby, aren't you happy? Baby, don't cry. For the love of god, please don't cry; you'll wake Nolan again. You know you upset him when you cry like this." Another long period of silence, I could hear my mother quiet herself, peace finally taking hold of the emotional chaos that was wrecking our household. Then, as if he was saying it in his dream, my father murmured, "But baby, baby. . . aren't you happy?" 

Sitting up a little, I wanted nothing more than to run upstairs and yell and rave at my father, as much as I loved him. I wanted to scream like a lunatic, "Of course she's not happy, you thick-headed baffoon! You silly man. . . she's not happy because she's not herself. This wasn't the world she belonged to, you idiot! This life-- this three bedroom, two bath, unfinished basement life-- wasn't and can never be her fulfillment. What the hell did you promise her, anyway? A life of brevity, a life of danger? Don't fool her any longer. Don't tell her that this life, if she keeps it up, will eventually bring her happiness. Oh, dad, let her go. For god's sake, let her go to her own world!" 

But I said and did nothing. Instead, I sank into the sofa and closed my eyes, hoping for sleep. However, as I was nearly drowning in blissful unconsciousness, the phone rang. 

Groaning, I contemplated not answering it. So, it surprised me when I reached over and grabbed the phone off the coffee table, clicking it on. 

"Wha?" I mumbled into the phone gruffly, not bothering to mind my manners at one in the morning. 

Instantly, I regretted answering. "Hey, Lil'," came the perky voice on the other line. "Whatcha up to?" 

Sighing in misery, I turned onto my stomach, glaring angrily at the ceiling. Squinting, I returned back, my voice icy, "What most people are doing at one in the morning, Ray: sleeping." 

"Oh. . . yeah," came the awkward reply before I heard a rustle, then a loud bang. A curse could be heard as well as the sound of cat when it's tail gets stepped on. 

"Ray?" I asked throatily, "What are you _doing_?" 

"Uh. . ." was all I got back before there was a random change of subject, "So, how was your family time? With Simone, I mean." Ray's tone was unusually chipper for this late. Or maybe it wasn't that late. Maybe I was just emotionally drained. Way beyond my limits. 

Sighing, I adverted my eyes to the stairs, listening to the breathing coming from the recently pacified bedrooms. "I really don't feel like talking about it, Ray." 

"Oh," he replied simply before there was an awkward silence. I thought about simply hanging up there, since Ray was obviously not getting the hint that I was in desperate need of sleep. However, just as I was about to hang up, his voice came through the line, dark and upset, "What you mean to say, Lily, is that you don't feel like talking about it with_ me_." 

His words caught me so off guard, I felt myself bristling. Blinking in bemusement, I commanded, "You're obviously in need of sleep, Ray, because I have no idea what you're talking about. So, good-night, Raym--" 

"No, Lily," came his reply, swift and a bit irritated. There was a stiff pause before Ray spoke again, his voice sounding hurt, "What is it about him anyways, Lily? Why him? How come _Travis Strong_ can get you to bare your soul and I can't? Are we not good friends? Lily?" 

My eyes started to smart with tears at his wounded words. My heart instantly ached for him, and yet I felt no true guilt. There was nothing to apologize for. Of course, Ray would never understand that. So, with a gentle voice, I said, "Of course we're good friends, Ray. You're my best friend." 

More embittered silence before: "But it's not the same. The friends part of it, I mean. Travis can just-- well-- you're a different person around him, Lily. You know?" 

My heart was beating so fast I could hear it reverberate in my ears; I said nothing. 

A minute passed quietly, Ray simply making a few irritated sighs. Then, he said, "What does he do, exactly? To you, I mean. You guys don't, you know, you don't--" 

Catching his intention almost instantaneously, I felt heat prickle my skin. "Oh, shut-up, Ray!" I snapped helplessly, wishing him to quit his sudden and maddening peacefulness about Travis and my situation. 

"Hey, it's a valid question! I mean, if you guys were, you know, doing _anything_. . ." 

"Oh, Ray, be quiet! Please, just shut-up!" I curled up in a helpless ball, trying to pretend that I wasn't having this squeamish conversation with Ray Brennan. 

He was quiet for a few more seconds before he prodded suspiciously, "So, does that mean you guys _are_, well, you know. . .?" 

Suddenly feeling very annoyed, I snapped waspishly, "That's it. I'm going. Good-night, Ray." 

"Wait!" He exclaimed, another crash heard on the other line. "Wait, Lily!" 

"What Ray?" I bark impatiently before gritting my teeth. 

"Oh, come on, Lily," he begged innocently, trying to sound pathetic-- and succeeding. "Why are you leaving so early?" 

His words and their unintentional irony hit me like a slap in the face. Reeling back, I stared at the phone, placing it in front of my face for surveillance. Then, rumbling like thunder, a dark and ironical chuckle growled out of me. 

"Oh, Ray!" I laughed, hearing the confused static on the other line. "Why amI leaving early? Why am _I _leaving early?" Another row of laughter erupts from me before I explained, so matter-of-factly it sent goose-bumps rippling over my skin, "Leaving early is. . . what I_ do_." 

There was a confused panic on the other line as I laughed uproariously. Then: "Alright, you've convinced me. You need some serious sleep. Good-night, Lily." 

My laughter suddenly ceased to exist as I heard those words. Sighing, I felt the ache creep back into my body. Licking my lips, I replied gently, "Good-night, Ray. Get some sleep yourself." 

"Yeah, I think I will." He was silent before he whispered awkwardly, "I love you, Lily." 

I pursed my lips at this. It wasn't the type of love confession I had been expecting for awhile now, which I dreaded enormously. Instead, it was a covert way of him saying, "Don't forget about me, Lily." 

"I love you too, Ray," I say back, feeling guilt rise in my throat. I wanted to add, "But I'll never love you like you want me to," but I didn't. Instead, I let Ray go off into his own little dreamworld as he clicked off his phone. 

Placing the phone back on the coffee table, I stripped down to hardly anything, discarding my wet jeans and Travis' jacket. Grabbing an afghan off the back of sofa, I curled up into it, feeling the first physical warmth in hours. But, despite this warmth that spread over my skin, I shivered. Something inside me was aching, churning and breaking me up. 

Grabbing Travis' damp jacket from off the ground, I pressed it against my face. It still smelled rustic and earthy-- like him--, despite the downpour and my wearing it for nearly four hours (I had been blindly wondering the streets of Roscoe for nearly two hours when Robbie had stopped in his car and asked me what the hell I was doing. He had shoved me into his small sedan before driving me promptly to my house, saying nothing, but his lips were pursed and there was that little knot of concentration knitted in his eyebrows; or otherwords, he knew what I had been doing, and who I had been with). 

I fell asleep there, Travis' aura permeating my dreams, which consisted of me traveling down the forest paths of Roscoe, lost and confused. I eventually wondered into a field which was sprouting gigantic pumpkins everywhere. Ray was there, and he asked me if he had seen his pantaloons, but Robbie told me that Ray was_ really_ looking for Audrey, because she had his peanut-eating dog. 

And then, confused and lost, I sat down and cried, watching Ray run around pantaloon-less while Robbie told Audrey that she should really give Ray back the dog. 

Then as Audrey was demanding that I tell her what Ray's middle name is, a pair of strong arms enwrapped me before a gruff voice mumbled in my ear, "Shall we leave?" 

"But we'd be leaving early," I said, not bothering to see who it was. 

"Precisely."   
  
----------------- 

**Travis' POV:**

The back door had been unlocked. Thanking the god of mother-forgetfullness, I crept quietly into the garage of our house. Sure enough, my mother's BMW was parked serenely in there, glistening from a recent washing. Frowning at it, I slipped silently through the garage, testing the door to get inside. Assured it wouldn't make too much noise upon enterance, I opened it quietly. 

Entering the kitchen to my house, I stepped back a few yards, not fully registering what was in front of me. The kitchen light was on, the party hors d'oeuvres scattered messily around. Snorting, I figured that my parents would get so smashed they wouldn't have the sense to clean up their state-of-art kitchen (whatever the hell that was anyways). 

However, what was so odd was the fact that a person was still there, perched upon the kitchen island. Their legs were folded indian-style, while a large book was in their lap. They were reading it with interest, their eyebrows knotted together, while they munched thoughtfully on some of the cheese and cracker hors d'oeuvres. However, upon my entrance, their eyes drifted towards me, appraising me with a dreamy stare. 

"Hullo, Travis," the person said before cocking a head at me. 

Blinking in bemusement, I stared at my sister, who was still chewing thoroughly on her snack. Shaking my head, I cracked a crooked grin. "Hey, Rachel," I greeted back before walking towards the kitchen island. Glancing over the food scattered there, I asked, nodding towards the appetizers, "Any of this good?" 

Rachel, however, didn't answer. Instead, she started humming some tune(which sounded eerily like "The Monkey Song") while she renewed her interest back into her book. 

Raising an eyebrow at her profile, I sighed and shook my head. Picking up something that semi resembled normalcy, I chewed it slowly, deciding if I liked it or not. Being pleasantly surprised, I picked another one before offering to Rachel, "I'm gonna have some wine. Want some too?" 

She stopped her humming and looked at me curiously. Then, playing with a piece of her golden-brown hair, she lilted, "Mmm. Chilean, please." 

"What year?" I asked back, looking through my parents' vast wine rack. 

"1995," She replied before saying, "A good year. Yesss. . ." And then she resumed humming, her throaty sounds filling the kitchen like an old scratchy record. 

I couldn't find a 1995 year, so I simply popped open a 2000 chilean red wine, hearing the crisp sound as the cork unscrewed. Grabbing some wine glasses, I poured a small amount for each of us, and a much smaller portion for Rachel, since I had the distinct impression that she might have been born perpetually intoxicated. 

Walking over to where she was sitting, I ate the little cracker with some kind of odd French cheese-spread over it before handing Rachel her glass of wine. She sipped it before giving a glance that told me that she knew it wasn't a 1995 wine. But she didn't say anything. Instead, she stopped humming and simply resumed her reading. 

"You reading Nostradamus again?" I asked, noticing the book she was reading was thick enough to be a dictionary. Snatching another cracker, I bit into it and observed her over my food. 

Rachel's eyes glided over towards me before a half-smile formed on her face. "Oh, no," she said matter-of-factly, "it's Harry Potter now." She grabbed a cracker too, watching as I scrunched my eyebrows at her. "Nostradamus was getting too silly for me," She added as an afterthought, as if she had deemed Harry Potter a much more worthy subject of study.   
  
Raising my eyebrows, I took another sip of the wine before sighing. Leaning onto the island, I bit my lip and observed the mess around me before asking quietly, "Was Mum, uh, upset that I didn't show up to her little show-off party?" 

At this, Rachel chuckled. Flipping a page of her book, she replied, "Silly Travis. Silly silly Travis. Mum didn't even notice you were gone. Silly boy." 

Grinding my teeth, I bit back some of my anger. As much as it seemed to be endless amusement to Rachel that our parents cared more about the cars in the garage than their children, it never failed to make something hot and resentful bubble in the pit of my stomach. 

"But," came the sudden and strange announcement, "the real question is," Rachel paused here before taking a sip of her wine. Then putting it down, she ran her finger over the rim of it, making an eerie sound reverberate throughout the room. "The real question is: Did you leave early again, Travis?" Her large eyes (the same color as my mother: startling lavender-blue) peered at me, curiosity swimming in them. "Because you never fail to leave early." 

Staring at her, I felt her words echo through me as if I was a hollow room. Licking my lips, I blinked at her before stuffing a cracker in my face. Seeing that I was trying to deviate from an answer, Rachel simply sighed. 

Putting her book down, she cocked her head at me. Then, with unnerving understanding, she said confidently, "Of course, she never helps. You both leave too early." She picked up a cracker of her own before chewing on it meditatively. "But then, you must leave early, I suppose. Oh, Travis-- I don't think I can understand. No, no. . . I don't belong in that world. Not really." 

Her words always hit hard, especially when she conversed about Lily in such a way as if she knew her intimately. In reality, Rachel had only said a few words to Lily. Acquaintances, perhaps, but not friends in the least. Lily, for all as I knew, thought Rachel a bit unnerving, but she said she liked her alright. 

"La, sir," Rachel sighed, which was a habit of hers that she had picked up from somewhere. She finished her wine before lumbering down from the kitchen island. Brushing off her skirt, she stared at me, her wide eyes examining me. 

Such wide eyes. Where'd they come from anways? Mother, I supposed. There were disarming and unnerving at the same time, as if she was stripping you of your soul, so that she might examine it thoroughly. 

A crackle of thunder sounded somewhere far off. The thunderstorm had been swept away from Roscoe, leaving only it's fingerprints in the cool sidewalks, in the muddy puddles that would drown my mother's new geraniums outside. 

A grin formed on her face suddenly. Then, she said, "You saw her today, did you not, Travis?" 

Feeling as if this point had already been established, I nodded, confused. Then, thinking for some reason she might get the wrong idea, I mumbled, "Well, we don't really go out. . ." 

Laughter erupted from her when I said this. Staring at her in horror, I watched as pure amusement formed on her face. "No, no, of course not, Travis," she said, as if she thought the notion of Lily and I going out as simply absurd and delightfully hilarious. 

Then, as her laughter died, she kissed me cheek and said, "Good-night, Travis." As she was walking up the stairs towards her bedroom, she turned and glanced at me over the railing. 

"So, did you leave early?" She asked dreamily, but in a manner that deemed she already knew the answer. 

A small smile grew on my face, and I stared intently into my wine. "No, Rachel," I stated before looking at her. "I didn't leave early. Any second later and I would have left too late." I paused thoughtfully before whispering to my glass of wine: 

_"No, no: We left precisely on time."_

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_A/N (The last ones. . . I know you're rejoicing from joy): Okay, so the story was a bit. . . odd. But, hm, I don't really know. . . it made sense in the little warped mind of mine (that's not saying much, though). But, explaining relationships is intriguing, eh? And I just realized that this chapter could have been ignored, but the story just seemed incomplete without it. Ug, I hate when stories talk to you. . . (you're thinking I'm crazy right now; you are right.)___

_But ANYWHO, if you wouldn't mind leaving me a review. Flames, praise, etc. will hold me over until September, when the new eppies of RFR finally show. Ug, that's so long. Let's start a mob and storm the studio, taking the few episodes that we can get our hand on (not to mention Nathan Carter, or er. . . you didn't hear that for the record). But, pwetty pwease, leave me a review. THANK YOU to everyone who has already reviewed: you all are beautful. And, btw, I will get around to reviewing a few of you guys story when I get some free time. I'm at, er, summer school right now (no, I'm not an idiot and I didn't fail a class. It's,er, complicated. Yeah.) so I'm very busy, but I will have time after that to do some reading. But, anyways, thanks all. See ya around!_   



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